Disclaimer: I own nothing! Absolutely nothing!

Author's note: Accents have not been written in extensively, I figured we all know how the Heroes speak, and I thought not writing the accent would make for easier reading.

Chapter One: Agent Snow White

Carter plucked Newkirk's discarded card with ease and then placed several of his down on the table top. Newkirk scowled as Carter declared that he'd won. For a man who was regularly accused of cheating, when it came to playing cards with Carter, he often lost. One might say something, if one was willing to lose a possession or two for a while. LeBeau wrote his letter to his mother, careful to write it so that the censor wouldn't block out a lot of it, though some of it would be. In other words, it was a normal day at a POW camp should anyone care to take a look.

That changed the second the bunk rose and the stairs descended. "Where's the Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"In his office," LeBeau answered. "Do you think the censor would –"

"What's the message, Kinch? Anything good?" Newkirk asked, eager to change from losing the game to winning the war.

"No," Kinch headed for Hogan's door. LeBeau placed his letter on his bunk and the men followed Kinch. When Hogan answered the door, Kinch read off the communication from London. "First, they want to know how we're coming on the railway plans. Second, a contact code named "Snow White" has gone missing from her apartment. She's been gone for three days, missed a contact. London's worried she might have been captured."

"Snow White?" Newkirk asked. Kinch nodded. "Too bad she ain't Sleeping Beauty, I'd kiss her awake if we found her."

"Not now, Newkirk," Hogan dismissed the comments. "Snow White, Snow White...haven't we had any contact with her?"

"Sure," Kinch affirmed the Colonel's memory. "She works at Gestapo headquarters, she's identified a few officers for us, given their records to us."

"Gestapo," Carter whistled. "Boy, that's dangerous!" LeBeau nodded in agreement. Not only was it dangerous, it was vital. She had access to so many plans, people, and information.

Various suggestions for finding Snow White were announced: radio various contacts, pump Klink for information, go to town, somehow get to Berlin. "No, no," Hogan shook his head. "First the railway, then Snow White. We're not in search-and-rescue, we'll do what we can but until we get any more information there's nothing we can do." He looked around, "All right, Kinch, tell London we're on schedule for tonight, that's it." Kinch headed back to the tunnel. The other men returned to their smaller tasks. Carter abandoned the cards and picked up the socks he needed to darn. He did laundry for the men often, but no one wanted to darn socks so they had to do their own. LeBeau returned to his letter. He read over what he'd written and wished he could tell his mother about what he really did during the war. He hated the idea that he was just stuck at a POW camp and not doing much for the war effort in the minds of other soldiers.

Giving up, LeBeau folded the paper and placed it with his things. He'd work on it later. A missing agent kept his mind away from pleasant, censor friendly things to write. Their work was dangerous enough, an agent at Snow White's level would be a big loss and hopefully without bringing down the whole underground.

The woods were surrounded by German officers and even with her pass, she had no reason to justify her whereabouts. According to her pass, she was supposed to be on her way to Dusseldorf, not near this railway or in these woods. Dogs were out and every now and then she could hear their barks and the guards' orders. She kept a tight grip on her bag and continued to run through the woods. Various branches tore up her stockings and scraped her legs, the falling snow only added to her discomfort.

But she was a member of the underground, discomfort was a way of life since the war had begun. She would carry on as always.

The railway was her main priority, but the train had been delayed based on suspected sabotage. That she had heard from the guards shortly before she'd taken off into the woods. She did not need anyone to recognize her here if she succeeded. Her second priority was finding a radio she could use to make contact with London or another underground agent. The files in her bag needed to be sent to the Allies as soon as possible. Air targets across Europe and supply routes for the Russian front were all mapped and she had no excuse to have these copies.

Winded, she slowed and looked around to see if she could take a break. The dogs were far enough away that she felt quite comfortable to sit down on a tree stump. The wind howled and she put a hand to her hair, which had come undone. Quite frankly, given her disheveled appearance, if the Germans found her, they wouldn't even look at her forged documents that told them she was a Gestapo secretary. They would imagine she was fleeing the country.

With the time to sit, she thought up a story: on her regular route there had been an air raid. Frightened she'd run away and then became lost and just wandered, looking for the nearest town. They might believe that. Her breathing slowed to an almost normal pattern and she knew she would have to run soon. Just as she stood up, the stump seemed to raise, then fall. "Heavens!" she gasped and jumped away just in time for the stump to open.

One man's face appeared, smudged with ink or something to camouflage him. She blinked and nearly screamed. He jumped out as soon as she opened her mouth and clasped a hand over her mouth and hissed a shushing sound. "Not a sound, missy," He warned her, his German laced with an almost undetectable British accent. He brandished a gun, "Now, I don't want to use this, but I will if I have to. Into the stump," he pushed her in the direction of the stump she'd previously used as a seat.

"Wait," she whispered in English. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

He blinked, then lowered his gun. "You're Snow White?"

She nodded.

"Blimey! Well, get in the tunnel! London's been worried sick about you! Andrew, get down, get Papa Bear –"

"Papa Bear? You mean this is Stalag 13?"

"Welcome to the toughest POW camp in all of Germany," he smiled and gently escorted her to the tunnel entrance. Down below, the man she guessed to be Andrew waved. Her topside rescuer turned on a flashlight and shined it down on the ladder so she could see where she would be going. She made sure her bag was snug, the strap across her shoulder, and then began the descent.

At the bottom, Andrew held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Snow White. I'm Andrew, Andrew Carter."

"American," she breathed.

"Yes, ma'am, from Indiana, though I grew up in North Dakota."

She held out her hand to shake his. "Nice to see an American after all this time. I'm from Wisconsin."

"Boy, you sure don't sound like it!"

"Carter, didn't I tell you to get the Colonel?" the Englishman asked as he stepped down from the ladder.

"I was just making frie-"

"Get the Colonel!"

"Sorry," Andrew addressed her, "be right back!"

"And I'm Peter Newkirk," the Englishman stepped close to her. "From England, but I like those from the colonies just fine. You got a name other than Snow White?"

She nodded, "Rachel, Rachel Weiss."

What felt like a bunch of men arrived in the tunnel. A tall black man with a gentle voice offered her the first normal hello she'd received since arriving. Though, Rachel had to admit that the first had been under suspicion and the second was from a rather young and probably surprised man. "I'm Colonel Hogan," said one and she turned her head to him despite wanting to hug the black man for making her arrival seem normal and pleasant. He also seemed like a calm, stable man and at that moment reminded Rachel of her father. Everyone else seemed too excited like her brothers or too serious like her superiors.

"Colonel Hogan," she greeted him, and then slipped her bag off from her shoulders. "I have information that needs to get to London immediately." She opened it and took out the folder with the papers. It was good that she hadn't just handed the bag over to him, she realized, it had a second change of clothes and she didn't like the idea of a stranger going through her underwear.

Hogan took the papers from her and glanced through them. His eyes widened a bit and then handed it to the black man. "Kinch, radio this to London immediately."

"You have contact with London directly?!" On second thought, she shouldn't have been surprised, so far they seemed to have everything.

"For an underground agent, you certainly have a Kraut name," Hogan commented.

"My grandfather was German, I'm an American." She shrugged, "The name helped make the forgery all easier. It wasn't too hard to make up a fake background that allowed me to be eligible for work in the Gestapo."

"All clear!" a Frenchman called down to them.

"Let's go up," Hogan indicated towards the Frenchman, "Kinch, come up when you've finished with London."

Carter and Newkirk stayed close to her as the group travelled to a ladder. Two of them who hadn't spoken went up first, then Rachel climbed. For a brief moment she wondered if the three men down there were looking up her skirt. After working with Nazis for so long, she hoped the Allies would have better manners, even if they were prisoners of war. The Frenchman (she guessed) helped her out and she thanked him. When he replied, she knew he was French. "I'm Rachel Weiss," she told him.

"Louis LeBeau, Free France Air Force," the Frenchman told her with pride. "Would you like something to eat?"

Prisoner of War camps had terrible food and she knew they often didn't have a lot of food. "No, no thank you," she refused.

Hogan and the two others appeared. Hogan poured two mugs of coffee and placed two seats at the table. Carter and Newkirk went to the sink and began to clean their faces of the grime. LeBeau went over to the stove and began to fiddle with something he was cooking, it smelled surprisingly good – as if it weren't prisoner food at all. "Coffee, Miss Weiss?" Hogan asked.

"Danke," she answered in German automatically, then apologized. Hogan gestured for her to take a seat.

"Care to explain why London lost contact with you?"

Rachel took a gulp of the hot coffee – which tasted like real coffee! LeBeau wandered over and set a plate down in front of her with a very lovely and wonderful smelling French pastry. She thanked him in French and then told him that it was all the French she knew. "You look like you need it," LeBeau turned to Hogan, "You should give her some rest! Did you see her legs? They're all scratched up! And your hair, mademoiselle! Allow me to give you my comb!"

"Yeah," Newkirk chimed in, "no offense, love, but you need some sleep, looks like the Krauts gave you a run for your money!"

"They did. But it's all right," she assured them, "It all happened because of my downstairs neighbor. The Gestapo searched my apartment building," she took another drink of coffee. "I destroyed all evidence of my underground life – including my radio – and," she shook her head. "Most nerve-wracking moment of my work. Kept thinking I forgot something," again she took a drink of coffee. "They arrested my downstairs neighbor. Colonel, may I talk to you in private?"

"My office is that way," Hogan indicated his room and office. Rachel stood up and headed in that direction with him. On her way she noticed that Carter and Newkirk looked a lot better without all the grime on their faces. Hogan opened the door for her and she stepped into his room. "What's this about?" he asked her when the door closed.

"Well…no offense to you or your men, but do you have a plan for how I'm going to get out without being seen? There's a train on its way tomorrow," she recited its route and numbers. "I need to get to it."

"That train was supposed to be here tonight."

"No, it was delayed because of my neighbor. She was executed and the train is taking two Jewish boys to Poland. I'm not leaving until I know they're on their way to London or somewhere safe."

"That's why you left?! To save two kids?"

Rachel crossed her arms. "Colonel Hogan, you're a prisoner and a man at that. You're also an officer. Despite where you are, you're entitled to some respect. Do you have any idea what I am in Germany? I'm a Jewish woman working for the Allies – I'm risking my life for this and if your men hadn't found me –"

"You'd be dead –"

"I would have done it by myself! But now I'm asking."

"We'll see what London has to say." Hogan went over to his door and opened it, "Let's get you settled for tonight."

When they stepped out, the men had already assembled blankets, pillows, and pajamas for her. LeBeau also had prepared warm water, soap, a cloth, and a comb for her personal care. She looked at the pajamas, a big nightgown with stripes. "Thank you all," she smiled gratefully at them.

"Finish your food," LeBeau offered her more coffee.

"LeBeau isn't a bad cook," Carter told her. "Not quite as good as my mom, but decent." LeBeau shot him a look. Rachel told LeBeau it was the best she'd ever had.

"Merci!" LeBeau thanked her.

She finished and LeBeau took her plate. "Schultz is coming!" Carter warned.

"What do we do?" Newkirk asked as Rachel grabbed her bag and slid under the nearest bunk. Kinch appeared and immediately took things into account. He pushed a trunk in front of the bunk and everyone pretended to act normal with Carter and Newkirk sliding under blankets to cover their night sabotage outfits.

A large sergeant walked in and shivered. He warmed his hands by the stove and chatted with the men, took a candy bar, and left. Newkirk then moved the trunk away and she crawled out from under it. "Nice thinkin'!"

"You get used to it," she said shakily. "Sneaking files out and all. Paperwork's a risky business."

"I'll bet," Newkirk grinned. "Come on, I'll show you our Hotel Stalag 13, the mice are trained and the cockroaches are friendly." Her face paled, but Newkirk didn't notice as he tapped the hidden panel and opened the tunnel. She went down first and looked up at the light with a smile. It was still on – or perhaps it was connected to the ladder. Either way, she could see and it made the tunnel seem larger. "Here," Newkirk led her over to a portion of the tunnel that appeared to have been set up specifically for people to sleep. "It ain't much, but it'll do in a pinch."

"Were you serious about the mice and cockroaches?"

"Ah, never did meet a dame who liked pests, but they should leave you alone."

"Good," Rachel smiled, "cockroaches make a mess on my shoes when I kill them." Surprised, Newkirk laughed. He had a nice laugh, she noticed. He took a bit of time fixing up the bedding and then turned to her. He pretended to sneakily to put his hand on her shoulder. She brushed his hand away. "That's not going to work on me, been here long?"

"Long enough, love," Newkirk sounded a bit sad. "By the way, LeBeau will want to know what you want for breakfast. Personally I'd just ask for beans and toast – he thinks he's a gourmet chef," Newkirk winked.

"I think he did well, it was delicious. But I don't want to trouble you, you're risking enough –"

"Haven't you figured it out yet, darlin'? We've got everything here! LeBeau has a nice supply o' food, whatever you want."

"Pancakes? Real pancakes? Not potato pancakes."

"Right. Oh and you'll need clothes," he recited her measurements and began to ask if he'd gotten them right. Rachel slapped him across the face. "Blimey! What was that for?"

"I don't know how you got that, but you probably deserved the slap!"

"Well, was I right or wasn't I?" Rachel grudgingly admitted he was right. "Then can I also get a kiss goodnight?"

She rose to her tip toes and kissed the same cheek she'd slapped. "Good night, Mr. Newkirk."

"Call me Peter," he said warmly.

"Good night, Peter."

"Can I kiss you goodnight?" he asked hopefully.

"Don't push your luck."